“Of course you’re not; you are a wise woman who simply knows when her bread is buttered. Come here to the light. Do you know this? Have you ever seen anything like it before?”
As he spoke, Crossley held a fragment of the letter, which for so many years he had kept in his possession, before Mrs. Larkins’ eyes.
“Yes, sir, I seem to know it,” she replied, turning white.
“It is queer writing, is it not?”
“Oh, yes, sir, very queer.”
“And you are sure you have seen it before?”
“Well, yes, sir, I am positive.”
“Tell me when and how.”
“Well, my husband got letters writ like that more than once—several times. Once he left a letter about and I puzzled to read it. Of course, I could not make out a single word, and he laughed at me trying to get at the back of the cipher as he called it.”
“You are quite right; this letter is written in cipher. Now, can you tell me the name of the writer?”